Nine Lives
by Mousewolf
Summary: Macavity, Macavity, There's no one like Macavity...' But where did he come from? And where is he going? Documentation of the life and times of the Napoleon of Crime.
1. Chapter 1: In the beginning

**_A/N: Well, ladles and jellyspoons! Another CATS fanfiction from yours truly! Have I finally found my fandom? The Cat only knows...:P. This hopefully lengthy and probably, at points, disturbing piece of claptrap sprung from a flash-back idea I had for Precious Metals, my other (and as of late, dismally discarded) CATS fic, and grew from there. However, I'm beginning to babble so I'll let you get on with it, shall I? Enjoy!_**

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**PROLOUGE**

**Introduction**

A long time ago (possibly in a galaxy far far away – you never do know about these things) there were three young brothers, and they were Jellicles.

The eldest, Munkustrap, was a silver tabby, quiet and mostly serious, obedient to his elders but with a core of steel and a warm sense of humour that made him a good candidate for the tribe's future leader.

The youngest, Tugger (Not yet discovering the self-imposed title of the Rum Tum) – well, his size may have once made him a good possibility, but he was proud and boastful, and rather too doted upon by the females of the tribe, his own mother being in no good state to care for a kitten ('no better than she should've been' – according to his nursemaids). Also, although no-one said it aloud, he had never been, and probably never would be, the bravest or the brightest cat in the junkyard – his curious nature was not tempered by a great deal of common sense, and it got him into scrapes more regularly than it got him out of them.

Then there was the middle kitten, Runda, a slender, red-haired creature with not a small degree of magical talent, and whose high intelligence was not often put to a great deal of use when it came to dealing with other beings; quite often was he rebuked for misdemeanours caused by a quick temper and a strong urge to be proved better than his elder brother.

Technically, the three were only related on their father's side, only really half-brothers – Deuteronomy had always been unusually charitable for a tomcat, even for one who was the current alpha for the largest Jellicle tribe in London and the surrounding areas. And it showed, as Munkustrap was the only one who bore even the slightest similarity in colour and many toms would've taken only he under their wing and discarded the other two; perhaps another reason as to why it wasthe tabbywho was to be chosen as heir apparent – the 'crowned prince' of the tribe, as it were.

As to the other two – Tugger's mother had had little or no interest in kittens, as has been stated previously, and would have been unmoved by leaving the then-tiny Somali kitten to starve, had not some last remaining spark of compassion compelled Grizabella to hand him over to the more kitten-friendly queens of the tribe, before disappearing back into the rain-soaked night.

Runda's mother was dead – had died soon after he had been born. Later, much later, some would whisper that she had taken after her mother, his grandmother, (a certain blue-point Siamese, a visionary of her kind, who would have been, in a skewed way, proud of her grandson) that she had been a prophetess and had taken her life after seeing what her kitten was to become.

_(Macavity!)_

There are little or no records regarding Munkustrap's dam at all. She, too, is presumed to be dead.

**Life one – missing kittens and discovered powers**

_Only_

_There is shadow under this red rock _

_(come in under the shadow of this red rock)_

_and I wll show you something different from_

_your shadow at morning striding behind you _

_and your shadow at evening rising to meet you _

_I will show you fear in a handful of dust. _

- _**T.S Eliot's The ****Waste** **Land**_

Runda was a gawky, clumsy kitten, and he hated it. He knew he had more grace than his fluff-ball of a younger brother, Tugger, whose over-large paws spoke of the great size he would one day grow to, which did not make him any more nimble on them, but the thought comforted little.

He wished he could have the stoic grace and speed of his big brother Munkustrap. The silver kitten, only just past his seventh moon, already expressed the responsibility and strength that would one day cause him to be the tribe's alpha.

The cause of Runda's jealously – although he did not know the word yet, the feeling fitted the label perfectly – leapt down from the top of a near-by crate, startling the red kitten out of his thoughts.

"Where's Tugger? Aunt Tiggy says it's his nap-time."

Runda shrugged, "How should I know?"

Munkustrap's ears flicked back. "You were meant to be watching him, that's why."

Oops. The younger cat tried not to look guilty. He had been, but then he'd gotten so caught up in sounding out the words in the headlines of an old newspaper (he was teaching himself to read and enjoying it immensely) he'd let the smallest of the trio wander off – a habit little Tugger was all too fond of.

Munkustrap sighed and ran a hand through his still slightly kitten-fluffed headfur, a trait he'd picked up from his father and made Runda want to giggle to watch. "C'mon then. Help me find him before he gets himself stuck in box or something, like last time."

Now that provoked a giggle. The elder sibling gave a small glare that would be well perfected over the coming years, then clambered back over the row of crates, the ginger kitten following with some difficulty.

In the end, it took little searching to ascertain where Tugger had gotten himself this time, for a thin layer of April snow covered the ground, making it all too easy to discover the direction the youngest of Deuteronomy's sons had taken.

Up, naturally.

Somehow – only the everlasting cat knew how – the tiny tom had managed to clamber to the very top of one of the narrow and rotting poles of a recently-dumped four-poster bedstead, and was, of course, very, very stuck.

"Help! Help!" he mewed, terrified. It had seemed like a good idea at the time… if only he hadn't looked down…

At the bottom of the post, Munkustrap huffed out a cloud of air, getting more annoyed by the second, and gave Runda a look that said, quite clearly, '_you know this is all your fault_.'

"Yeah, yeah, I'm gone already," the middle kitten muttered, trying his claws on the post.

They sunk in easily, which may or may not have been a good thing. He adjusted his grip, and began to climb.

The weather was spring-wintry, as previously mentioned, and frost had made the pole icy. The cold burned his paws but he still clambered on, spurred on by his elder brother's disapproving look from below and his younger brother's panicked cries from above.

Eventually, he reached the summit, and the little tawny fluffball nearly made him fall off again.

"Tugger, get off me!" Runda was half tempted to shove the little kitten off and see if he'd bounce. The way he was acting now made it likely. "How in the deepest basement did you even get up here?"

"I don't know." He looked up with grey-blue eyes that would one day turn to bright gold and cause dozens of queens to fall at his feet. "I was playing really near, like you said to, then I thought it'd be fun to see the whole junkyard at the same time, and this looked big enough."

I thought it'd be fun would be another thing, another phase to be much over-used in this one's future.

"Whatever. Here, c'mon." The ginger kitten grabbed the smaller one by the scruff of his neck and dropped him down to Munkustrap, who caught him safely and began to give him a thorough dressing- down.

Runda rolled his eyes and was about to begin the descent, when a strong wind, unseasonable for this time of year, rolled past and shook the ageing post, weakened further by even the slight weight of the two kittens. The one that was still up there crouched and dug all four sets of claws in, as the pillar swayed alarmingly. He wanted to cry out, wanted some adult cat to come to his rescue, as he slid even further off the slippery-cold pole, but all he could manage was a pathetic 'eeep,' before he finally lost his grip…

And fell, to the sharp and splintered teeth of the shattered bed-frame below, the shocked and frightened cries of his siblings ringing in his ears.

Instinctively, the red kitten spread his paws wide and clenched his eyes and teeth tight shut in preparation for the jarring, possibly fatal impact.

That never came.

After a moment, Runda forced himself to relax enough to open one eye. Was he dead? No, he couldn't be. He could still smell and feel the biting cold, still hear the gasps of the onlookers - his brothers been joined by two of the other kittens, and several older cats – and still feel his heart pounding in his chest.

Then why did he seem to be standing on mid-air?

Gingerly (no pun intended) the little cat flexed his claws, still extended to land. It felt like there was…something…under his paws. The nearest he could compare it to was some very soft material bundled under his feet and supporting him.

"Runda, you're floating." Breathed Tugger, from his place between his father's paws.

"It's a miracle." Said Deuteronomy, firmly.

"It is magic, leader…"

"…nothing more."

The mystical twins watched the scene with mild amusement, then turned their eyes to Runda, who still was still floating, uncontrolled and unable to move.

_Well done, apprentice._ They chorused, in Runda's spinning head.

"I'm not –"

_You are now. Be at peace with your powers and your destiny, for both shall be great._

Well, they were right, from a certain point of view.

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**_NINE LIVES_**

(**The documentation of the life and rise of Macavity, the Napoleon of Crime**.)

To be continued…

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**_A/N: If you've heard the jingle, _**

**_You'll know what to do - _**

**_I've written, you've read, _**

**_So read and review!_**


	2. Chapter 2:  Corinthian

**_A/N: M'kay, this chapter's about half the size of the previous one. Never mind - I'll make it up to you with the one after this. This, however, is dedicated to Aevany Storm - the first person to review on this story. Thanks, Aevany!_**

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**CHAPTER TWO**

**Life two **

**Part one– A true beginning and a Corinthian dream**

_Weary Sev' nights, nine times nine;_

_Shall he dwindle, peak and pine;_

_And though his bark cannot be lost,_

_It shall be tempest toss'd!_

_- **Shakespeare's Macbeth, act 1 scene 3**_

We now begin this tale, to its fullest, in the kitts' second year, in human temporal measurements, when they are about the ages of seventeen, fifteen, and sixteen moons old, respectively.

Munkustrap, always the elder brother and playing the part well, had just been marked as heir apparent – in the event of Deuteronomy's death, it would be he who had leadership of the tribe.

Tugger had only just begun to realise the full potential of the fairer sex, and had yet to go beyond a few intimate nuzzles and (on one memorable occasion) a tugged tail, resulting in a claw-studded slap.

And Runda had long been under the tutelage of the mystic Twins, having discovered his gift a good ten moons ago, and in almost full control of his powers (baring one or two odd incidents – usually involving Munkustrap in some way - that he would later swear he had nothing to do with) only waiting now for the day that would reveal to him his fourth name; the extra name given to all magical cats as a way to call up the most powerful part of themselves.

But for now, for this star-strung evening, he dreamt.

_He was walking along a long hallway or tunnel, so dark that even his feline night-vision had a difficult time seeing more than vague images. Eventually, it either began to lighten slightly, or his eyes became accustomed to the blackness, for he could see that the hall was lined with mirrors on one side and doors on the other. _

_Curious, he opened the first he came to, and was greeted by a roar of noise and light, a painful contrast to the monochrome world in which he stood, as two fully-grown tomcats, one a naggingly familiar silver tabby and the other a wild and vicious looking red, fought to the death under the lights of an unfamiliar train-station. _

_He shut the door. He didn't want to know. _

_As he turned away from the door, a purring voice called out, "Don't you want to see your own future, tom?"_

_The adult ginger tom was leaning against the frame opposite him, smiling faintly and watching him with half-lidded, cold eyes. Despite the elder's fearsome appearance, Runda felt no fear of him. _

"_No," he answered, meeting those metallic green eyes with his own, emerald ones. "I think I should take things as they come, like anyone else."_

_The other's ears flicked back. "You're a fool. But you'll soon learn well enough."_

_The young cat's hackles raised uneasily. "W-what do you mean?"_

_His smile sharpened, became a mocking grin. _

"_W-what do I mean?" he mimicked, laughing, then shook an unnaturally long claw at the younger cat. "Nu-uh-uh-uh, little fool. You specifically told me that you didn't want to know. Contradicting one's self is terrible form."_

_He turned away, but Runda called after him, unable to help himself, "What do I call you, if we meet again?"_

_The laugh came back, sharp and abrupt as breaking glass. "We won't. But call me Macavity."_

_A wind picked up, blowing the young Jellicle's semi-long fur back into waves and rips. He had to yowl to be heard. _

"_But who are you?" _

_The laughter rose in a chilling scream above the howling wind, and it was now that Runda realised that which had been niggling at him since he had first turned to face Macavity. The mirror split even as he thought it, and he ducked as it exploded, the shards raining down in a painful torrent, and the old tom's perversely joyful shout only confirmed his fear._

"_I am you!" _

_And so he fell._

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**A/N: Look at the poor purple button down there, ** _

**Give him a click, to show that you care. **

**Please review, tell me what you think**

**And that my efforts aren't a waste of ink.**


	3. Chapter 3 : Shaman's Advice

**_A/N: This is miserably late, I know. I'm sorry - I don't have any smart-ass excuse. _**

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**Life two - **

**Part two – the shamans' advice**

_**Mercutio - **I dreamt a dream last night._

_**Romeo - **As did I. But what was yours?_

_**Mercutio - **That dreamers often lie._

_**- Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet**_

Runda awoke with a start, shivering and shaking.

He looked frantically around at his small den, seeing only the thin, pale straws of daylight beginning to poke through the slats of the old crate, and hearing the sleepy twittering of few birds, a noise that provoked an answering rumble in his stomach. He rose, absently making an attempt to tidy his ruffled fur.

His _windblown_ fur.

The ginger Jellicle froze, staring at

_(I am you!)_

his arm, not seeing the dark stripes. Maybe his fur could do for a bit longer.

Actually, he supposed, as he went to hunt, he shouldn't really be surprised. Stranger things had happened when he had been discovering his powers for the first time – for example, it had snowed midnight blue in the height of summer for a good twenty-four hours before the twins had helped him get it under control – so his fur acting as though it had been in a gale shouldn't have been as disturbing as it was. The memory of the blue snow made him smile slightly, though. The look of surprise, then anger, then resignation on his brother's face had been priceless!

It wasn't particularly that Runda disliked Munkustrap (he did) or that he envied him (not at all, not since the discovery of his powers), it was simply that, since they were old enough to have such opinions, he considered him to be …well, 'too much of a goody-two-shoes', was the polite way of putting it. He knew that his brother thought him rash, brash, and egotistical, and didn't much care. In fact, until Deuteronomy's youngest, Tugger, took more interest in his brothers' affairs -(which was unlikely to be ever – his closest friend at this point was an under-sized kitten called Quaxo, who, strangely enough, was the Twins only other pupil), he and Munkustrap were rivals in practically anything they were forced to work on at the same time.

Mostly, they simply avoided each other as much as possible – the fact that 'Martin' had permanent humans and 'Seth' did not and rather scorned most human company (to the point of that the instant he was old enough to fend for himself, he escaped from the human home that the three kits sometimes shared with their father) made this almost too easy.

In fact, the only thing they enjoyed doing together was sparring; they were so equally matched – at least when the younger didn't fight unfairly by using magic, something that happened rarely because they both were aware of the severe punishment the Twins would dole out to Runda if he ever did such a thing – that both siblings would tire before any real injury was done.

Runda knew his brother would be unlikely to ever want to inflict real harm upon him – the silver tabby was too much of a pacifist (or a least, as passive as a cat can be after being named second in command) for such a thing to happen

_(red and silver fighting to the death / each one waiting to take the other's breath)_

but sometimes he fervently wished their mock-fights would become something more serious.

A bird cooed up ahead and he went into stealth mode. It was times like this it was very difficult not to use his power to cause the pigeon to literally walk into his mouth; or maybe to walk above it and drop down on top (since levitation was notably the first of his powers that he had discovered, walking on air had long become as easy as walking on solid ground)- after all, the creature was so stupid he could always say that it was accidental

_(then do it and be done with it, little fool, you sound like Munkustrap!)_

but he shook his head mentally. The Twins had eyes everywhere and would have his tail if they found out. Which they inevitably would.

The ginger half-grown tom snuck forward, then pounced, the deliciously warm tang of blood filling his mouth as the bird squawked, struggled once, feebly, then died.

He ate everything except for the head, the gizzard and the lights, then stopped, staring into the dulled and glassy eyes of his kill. Something was new, something that hadn't been there before

_(me, little fool – you're more dense that I gave you credit for)_

like another being now inhabited his head, that prowled about in his innermost thoughts, and scrutinised them with poisonously green metallic eyes.

Macavity was there.

He had to get to the Twins.

Runda reached the den under the old brass bedstead at full speed, nearly running full tilt into one of the metal posts.

"Tantomile!" he yelled, "Coricopat! Are you there?"

"Runda?" A small black and white kitten came out from under the rusting frame. "Are you okay? You feel all spiky."

"I'm not, Quaxo. I'm really not. I think I've just got my fourth."

The little tuxedo-marked tom brightened. "But that's great! What-"

"Quaxo, no offence, but could you possibly piss off for a bit so I can speak to our tutors alone?"

Quaxo's ears lowered a bit, and Runda felt bad for it. "Okay, Runda."

He concentrated for a moment, then vanished in flurry of blue and white sparks.

Runda's tail and ears flicked back and forth for a moment in indecision, then he yelled for the Twins again. "Coricopat! Tanto-"

_Peace, apprentice. And speak with your mind, not of it_, answered Coricopat sternly, appearing like smoke beside him and cuffing his ear.

"I don't – I can't – I'm sorry." The young feline shook his head, trying to clear it.

_Do not reprimand him, brother, _Tantomile told her twin, appearing on Runda's other side, _something panics him today…_

The ginger cat nodded his thanks to the female, then told the pair about his dream, sparing no detail, as much as he wanted to, for he knew that the Twins could smell an untruth better than any other could scent a Pollicle.

"…and I know full well that it's my fourth name, but I don't want to take it. Isn't there some way I could change it?" He looked imploringly at his tutors.

They, for their part, looked troubled.

"The name chooses the Jellicle…"

"…the Jellicle does not choose the name."

"And as much as you fear it…"

"…your fourth will be a great one."

_Macavity, Macavity, there's no-one like Macavity…_the mocking tune wound its way about his mind, dragging with it the icy hook of premonition.

Tantomile gave him a sympathetic look, and put a gentle paw on his shoulder, apparently seeing his thought, and reaching, carefully, to see more. _I am so sorry Runda…_

_**((You are not, witch – you don't know what we are, but we see you, and you are AFRAID, witch, YOU ARE AFRAID!)) **_

Runda grabbed his head in both paws, shaking as the mind-voice snarled through the den and the Twins recoiled, bristling in yes, fear, but outrage on the male's part – Coricopat was highly tempted, there and then, to clamp down against the much younger cat's mind, currently vulnerable in its explosively turmoil state, and end this now.

But his sister's shivering mental touch cooled him, calmed him.

_Please, not here. Not now. We have to help him._

Sometimes Coricopat wished he had Tantomile's feelings of pity and compassion. But they were two halves of a whole – ying and yang. Dark and light. Male and female.

Attack and defend. And right now he did as his sister bade.

Later, though, much, much later, he would curse this decision, but not even when they worked together could they see so far into the future.

Working together, the Twins coerced the now whimpering young tom to a dreamless sleep, safe for now, from himself.

_Well, sister, _he told her, staring across red-furred, prone body, _it's in your paws now. My hope is that you know what you're doing. _

Tantomile closed her orange eyes, identical to that of her brother's but for the emotion behind them, and bowed her head.

_I wish I did know, brother, _she thought, privately.

_I wish I knew._

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**_A/N: You know the jingle_**

**_You should know what to do, _**

**_I've written, you've read, _**

**_Now read and review!_**


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